


Static

by thefraserwitch



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Angst, Cannon compliant, Complete, F/M, One Shot, Retrospective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 00:46:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17355782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefraserwitch/pseuds/thefraserwitch
Summary: In response to one of gotham-ruaidh's prompts during Droughtlander





	Static

_He wasn’t dead. **Why - in God’s name - wasn’t he dead?**_

 

Among the dead and dying, James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser lay on the field at Culloden Moor. Air whistled through his chapped lips, filling his lungs with oxygen and willing him to live. Every nerve ending throughout his body was aflame as searing pain coursed through every limb, reminding him that he was in fact alive. Pulsing through his veins and now pooling behind his leg, his blood slowly drained the remaining essence of his life from his body.

 

All Jamie had to do was wait… still and static as the frigid Spring evening.

 

A murky, gray sunset faded into the inky blackness of night, relieving the earth of any lingering warmth the afternoon sun had provided. The echoes of the British soldiers searching for any survivors drifted away and abandoned Jamie in eerie silence. One by one, snowflakes fell from the sky and blessed him. With their icy droplets, they cleansed his wounds - his sins - and granting him his last rites. He prayed that once the storm had passed he’d finally be allowed to die…

 

_…until she came._

 

Bathed in bright, warm light, Claire walked towards him, floating like some angel as her feet never once touched the ground. As she approached him, his vision of her cleared, the haze over his mind’s eye dissipating to reveal every glorious detail belonging to his wife: the delicate lace trim on her shift (her best and most expensive one from their time in Paris), her arms crossed above the growing swell of the bairn (their precious child nestled safe and warm), the milky glow of her porcelain skin (shining bright like pearl), the riotous cloud of curls framing her face (strands of gold, auburn, and chocolate spun together in all their splendor). This angel - his wife - was absolutely breathtaking.

 

 _“Claire…”_ Jamie whispered, his breath catching in his throat as she bent to brush a stray curl from his eyes. When her fingertips met his forehead, he felt nothing, merely a ghosting of her touch against his skin. He arched his back, writhing in agony from the absence of her… so close yet so far.

 

“Are you alive?” She asked, her eyes wide with worry and brimming with unshed tears. Again, her hands scanned over his body, searching to heal whatever ailed him with her touch… but still he felt nothing save for the agony that tore through his body and the torment deep within his heart.

 

“I’m in pain!” Jamie cried out, his vision blurring as the pain worsened. If she could only touch him so he might feel the warmth of her hand on his cheek one last time, she might heal him… or he might go in peace.

 

A sudden rustling in the heather beyond interrupted their last moments, and the reverie of his wife began to disappear before his very eyes.

 

“I must go now…” his wife murmured to him, the vision of her growing fainter by the second. “Close your eyes and rest, my love… until I return.”

 

His Scottish brethren found him and rescued him from the bloody moor before he could leave this world. With heavy lids, Jamie saw his wife one final time - smiling at him with her hair curled about her face - before his eyes drifted shut.

 

When he did finally awake, James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser was gone and did not return for quite some time. In his place were others, mere shadows of the man he once was wading through the static that was now his very existence.

 

As the Dunbonnet, he lived like a savage, no better than an animal scavenging for his daily meal all while hiding in plain sight from the men who wished to see him dead. Then he was Mac Dubh. He was a leader once more - but of criminals as he counted himself among the imprisoned. After he was released on parole, he transformed again into Mackenzie, the groom. Little more than a slave, he did his master’s bidding, even if it cost him anything he had left of his dignity and everything else he held dear.

 

When he reached the very end of his rope, he struck out anew in Edinburgh and transformed one final time. He became Alexander Malcolm, respectable printer by day and smuggler by night. While it wasn’t the life he had imagined for himself - as the laird of Lallybroch with his wife by his side, watching their family grow - it was a good one. He made a decent wage (which he sent what he could spare back to Jenny and Ian), had a warm bed to sleep in at night (even if it was in a brothel), and kept entertaining company (though they were traitors and thieves not unlike himself). It wasn’t the life he would’ve picked for himself, but it would do.

 

Until one day after twenty years of living half a life, a voice called out through the static, the other piece of his soul beckoning to its counterpoint in the darkness.

 

_“It’s me… **Claire**.” _

 

James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser returned that very day, awaking with his head cradled in the lap of his beloved wife, Claire. Her hand lovingly stroked his cheek as his eyes fluttered open.

 

 _“I’ve seen ye so many times…”_ he whispered for he feared if he spoke too loudly she would disappear as quickly as she came. _“You’ve come to me so often. When I dreamed sometimes. When I lay in fever. When I was so afraid and so lonely I knew I must die. When I needed you, I would always see ye, smiling, with your hair curling up about your face. But ye never spoke. And ye never touched me…”_

 

Firmly, Claire grasped his large hand within hers.

 

_**“I can touch you now.”** _

 

_Complete._


End file.
